


A little piece of Heaven

by JovialHarp5159



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Bottom Tony Stark, M/M, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Omega Tony Stark, Past Miscarriage, mentions of anxiety disorders, slight dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 09:52:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14830058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JovialHarp5159/pseuds/JovialHarp5159
Summary: "It’s not so long ago, that things were… as close to perfect, as Steve ever thought they would get. he had a home. A family to fill it with. He had hope for the future, for the first time in a long, long time. it’s not so long ago, that Tony would be here with him, rambling about how he could improve some piece of technology, or the redundancies in his newest iteration of an AI, to prevent it gaining sentience. it’s not so long ago, that Steve would have been /okay/."the so-called Civil War was one of the worst events in the lives of Steve, and Tony. the things that made sense, that felt right before are gone now, and they're left picking up the pieces of the worst mess they've ever seen.





	1. But home... is nowhere

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, fam! I had a chance to work with an absolutely phenomenal HeroSkatman, on this years cap_ironman Reverse big bang. his work is the art that inspired this fic, check it out here:   
> http://heroskatman.tumblr.com/post/174509137995/team-nomad1-mcu-version-stony-for-the-cap-ironman
> 
> go show him some love on Tumblr! 
> 
> in the usual fashion for me, each chapter of this fic, as well as the title itself, is named for a song. enjoy!
> 
> "cause you had my heart, at least for the most part. and everybody's gotta die sometime. we fell apart, let's make a new start." - A little piece of heaven.

Steve’s in the kitchen of his apartment, the first time he hears it. The phrase ‘Civil War’, splashed across the bottom of the national news, impartial and unfeeling. The anchor is talking about riots at an apple store, following the release of the newest iPhone. That’s more important news, than the so called ‘Civil War’ between the avengers. The worst goddamn three months of his life, and it’s somehow less interesting, than a couple of white middle age moms mauling each other over a phone that’s less technologically advanced than the ones in their overpriced handbags. Not for the first time in his life, he wonders if coming out of the ice was actually to his own detriment.

 

That would mean not meeting Tony though, and Steve can’t really imagine being in a world where he’s not. Even if they’re at each other’s throats, Steve needs Tony to function. He’s pretty certain that there’s a S.H.I.E.L.D head shrinker somewhere, that would cringe at that simple admission. He sighs, and drops his gaze back to the pieces of toast on the counter in front of him, no longer hungry. Not eating now means he’s going to be halfway to starving by the time he gets out of the palace though. He’s not quite in pre-rut, but he’s staring it down in the next two weeks or so, and starving himself just means making it worse for himself, so he sighs, and reluctantly downs both pieces of toast with jam, and the apple he’d polished for himself. he’ll still need to eat in a couple of hours, but this should keep him ok for now.

 

Walking through the palace is still odd, and Steve tries to make himself look as small as he possibly can, a feat that’s not exactly easy given his super soldier stature, and the fact that an alpha making an active effort to be less intimidating is apparently a walking contradiction. By the time he’s outside, where it doesn’t feel like walls are closing in on him, he’s almost talked himself out of the anxiety attack that’s been encroaching.

 

The anxiety isn’t new, but that fact doesn’t make Steve resent its presence any less. He’d dealt with nightmares, and persistent thoughts after coming out of the ice in the first place, after Bucky fell trying to chase down Red Skull, hell, all the way back to Azzano, when he couldn’t find Bucky.

 

It isn’t new. But the feeling of ice clawing its way down his spine, encasing him, and carving through his lungs, is. He stops walking, on a gasp, and closes his eyes for a second too long, and suddenly, all he can smell is snow. A winter that’s too harsh, and the metallic tang of metal that’s been left to rust. It’s too close to the scent of blood for comfort, and his stomach churns as he realizes he can smell that too. Blood, and rust, winter, and the faint ozone of an electrical short. He’s just starting to spin out of control, leaning up against the wall of the palace, when someone brushes past him, gently enough to be accidental, but just hard enough to jolt him out of his own mind. He sighs, frustrated at himself, and fixes his eyes down at the red dirt, as though he could stare it into submission with the sheer force of his displeasure.

 

The sunrises here are gorgeous, and Steve thinks, not for the first time, about painting them. Oils, he thinks, they’d blend the most evenly. Though they still wouldn’t do a damn bit of justice to the way the hard packed earth bleeds seamlessly into the horizon, like maybe if you look at it closely enough, you’d begin to wonder if the earth and the heavens were one all along. No amount of acrylic, or gouache, pastels, or ink would capture the way the sun sparkles on the water of the river like a promise and a trick at the same time. even if they would, his heart wouldn’t be in it. Not anymore.

 

He knows, before he’s in earshot of the hut, that Bucky’s awake. He always is. He likes to pretend that the nightmares aren’t still plaguing him, but Steve knows the exhausted set of his eyes, and the furrow in his brow. Hell, he sees it on himself every morning, after all.

 

Shuri explained that she’d done what she could, but removing the nightmares, would mean removing the memories that caused them, and Bucky had been violently opposed to erasing the Winter Soldier. It’s noble, Steve thinks, that he wants to remember. There’s a ghost of Bucky Barnes in his head, whispering a soft, broken ‘I remember all of them’, and a shiver runs down his spine. He frowns deeper, and shoves his hands as far into his pockets as he can. There’s a voice that floats to him from the hut, something that’s so mixed it really defies definition. It’s a strange combination of mid ‘40’s Brooklyn, and Russia, definitely alpha, but with a rounded edge to it, someone who’s spent a lifetime trying to sound as close to a beta as he can.

 

“Overheatin’ to death ain’t gonna prove anything, punk.” Steve’s only recourse is to pout at him, and try to make himself look as small as he can in the oversized hoodie.

 

“just goes to show you, jerk, I’m not trying to prove anything, and ‘m not overheating.” Bucky looks up at him lazily, from where he’s leaning up against the wall, staring out at the beautiful sunrise.

 

“Still get the cold thing, huh?” Steve hums noncommittally. Bucky shakes his head, and sighs. “Steve. Do us both a favor, and text your husband, you sad sack.” Steve’s entire line of posture goes stiff, and he stares at Bucky, frozen. How does he know about the phone? He… he hadn’t told anyone about that, save for T’challa, and even then, it was only as a matter of security. Something of a question must show on his face, because Bucky just smirks in that infuriating way of his, and taps a fingertip to his temple. Steve huffs.

 

“he’s not my husband.” Bucky fixes him with a look that’s somehow even less impressed than the last one, and Steve rolls his eyes.

 

“Right, so if he ain’t your husband, why you mopin’?” Steve opens his mouth to argue, and Bucky flicks Steve’s chest right in the middle, where the heavy gold titanium alloy ring sits. “and why you carryin’ that thing around, and havin’ the audacity to think I won’t notice, huh?” Steve sighs heavily, and his posture goes lax, all at once, as every bit of his fight is sapped out of him.

 

“It’s… complicated.” Bucky scoffs, and relaxes back against the wall, storm grey eyes focusing back out at the horizon again.

 

“and neither of us would know a thing about that, would we, Stevie?” Steve just laughs softly, and leans over onto Bucky’s side.

 

“no idea what you’re talkin’ about, Buck, not a bit.”

 

A comfortable silence stretches out between them for several long moments, and Steve doesn’t question it, because he doesn’t have to. In these moments of perfect silence, the two of them say much more to each other than words ever could. I love you. You don’t eat enough. I’m scared. You need to sleep more. so much that they haven’t ever bothered to say outright, but it’s all there. Steve’s relaxed enough now, that his mind’s a million miles away, when Bucky speaks again.

 

“I’ll never forgive you for choosin’ me, if you two don’t work it out.” Steve blinks, confused, but he doesn’t get a half a chance to argue, before Bucky’s continuing, speaking impartially, matter of factly, to the river in front of the hut. “I know why ya did it, ok? I get it. God knows  I wasn’t the only factor, But Stevie… I never seen you look at anyone the way you looked at him.”  Grey eyes narrow on cornflower blue ones, and Steve can’t help but to swallow uncomfortably. “You ain’t you lately. You walk around like you’re half dead, you jump at every shadow… you don’t _draw_ anymore Stevie, c’mon, you gotta know how huge that is.” Steve makes an involuntary whine, and shakes his head, turning away and looking anywhere but at the eyes that have him pinned like a bug under a microscope, unable to escape.

 

“Bucky I… I can’t, ok? I just… I can’t.” it feels like a lackluster explanation, and it probably is, but he can’t think of what to add to make it better. Fortunately, Bucky has always known when to push, and when to let it go, so they lapse back into silence, and this time it lasts, without intervention. They both turn back to the water, watching the antelope that step gingerly on the far bank of the river, dipping their sloping necks to drink their fill before the sun heats the water. When Bucky speaks again, his voice is quiet, timid almost.

 

“text him, Steve.” Steve shakes his head, and drops his head back against the wall, letting his eyes flutter closed. If Bucky expects a response, he doesn’t make it apparent, and he doesn’t press for one. Steve hunkers down into his hoodie, in an effort to escape the cold that’s been one with his bones for just over three months

 

 


	2. Otherside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How long, how long will I slide?  
> Separate my side, I don't  
> I don't believe it's bad  
> Slit my throat it's all I ever..." -Otherside

“Tony. Tones. Do not.” Rhodey’s staring at Tony over an Air Force debrief he’s skimming through on the StarkPad in his lap. Tony hasn’t moved a single muscle, except to fiddle with the burner phone in his right hand, in the last half hour, and if anything spells trouble, it’s Tony Stark sitting still. The engineer doesn’t dignify him with a response at first, and really he’d be offended, if it didn’t mean that Tony was deep in thought about something. Which, again, isn’t exactly a good sign. Add all of that, the stillness, the extreme concentration, the fucking burner phone in his hand is painting a picture that Rhodey is damn certain that he doesn’t like.

 

He sighs, and sits up further on the couch. The prosthetics that Tony designed are fantastic, using nanites to attach into his synaptic knobs, allowing his legs to work more like they naturally would, instead of the machinery doing it all for him, but it’s still difficult to move. There’s a definite lag between commanding his body to move, and it actually obeying. When he spends something like a full 45 seconds moving around to get comfortable, and Tony doesn’t so much as look up from the rug, he scoffs, and grabs one of the gauche throw pillows that Pepper had to have bought, launching it across the room, and smirking as it bounces harmlessly off of his best friends head.

 

“No, Tony.” the beta repeats himself. Tony, for his part, seems utterly confused, and blinks three or four times, before his eyes finally clear, and he actually looks attentive.

 

“look, honey bear, the pillows aren’t my favorite décor either, but you could have just said. Miss Potts would be the one to throw them at anyway, I just pay for things.” Rhodey fixes him with a look that’s so unimpressed, it’s just off being physically painful to look at.

 

“don’t play dumb with me.” Tony merely raises an eyebrow and tilts his head a degree or two. For anyone else, it might seem condescending, but Rhodey’s seen every expression Tony can make, enough times, that he can read him like a book. The ‘what the hell are you talking about’ might as well have been written on his forehead for as clearly as he was telegraphing it. Rhodey sighs exasperatedly, and drops his head back onto the couch. “do not text Steve Rogers. Do not do it.”Tony whines then, everything in his posture crumpling, though it’s minute enough, to be barely visible.

 

“I wasn’t.” Rhodey scoffs.

“you were gonna.”

“I wasn—” Tony doesn’t even finish his sentence, before Rhodey is rolling his eyes, and preparing to turn back to his file, and there’s another pathetic whimper that comes from the vicinity of the overstuffed chair Tony’s occupying. “I _wasn’t_. I mean… I hadn’t decided.” There’s a single beat of silence there, and it tells Rhodey all he needs to know. Tony needs to talk. “forget it, you’re right, I don’t know what I was thinking. Hey, are you hungry?” typical Tony then, open up a tiny crack, and if what you see through it is anything but light, slam it shut just as quickly as you possibly can, deflect for good measure, throw out a red herring, hope someone bites. Rhodey hates Howard for teaching Tony this mental chess.

 

“Tony, if you need to tal—”

“I miss him. Ok? I miss him. And that’s… _fucking_ stupid.” And it’s not like he doesn’t remember what happened. It’s not like he doesn’t have painfully vivid nightmares every goddamned night, about being left in a burned out bunker, broken down, in a busted suit. Being truly abandoned in every sense of the word. He _knows_ what happened. But his overactive brain, that for some reason won’t leave well enough alone, has him hung up. He doesn’t even realize he’s crying, until Rhodey is in front of him, kneeling, and pulling him into a hug.

 

“Hey, Tones, hey, hey.” He soothes gently, letting himself rock the both of them just slightly. “it’s… it’s ok to miss him, alright? Just… I don’t want you getting hurt again, alright? That’s all.” Tony sniffles a few more times, and rubs the tears out of his eyes. Tears that he didn’t give permission to be there. Maybe he’s closer to heat, than he cares to admit.

 

“I don’t… I know. I just. Trust me, I know.” He shakes his head, and runs shaking fingers through his hair. He’s too deeply into his feelings, too close to the edge of panic, and he needs to step back, or fall over the ledge. As much as he loves Rhodey, he’s part of the problem right now. If Tony wants to have any chance of getting a grip on his feelings, he needs to make sure that there’s no one around to bear witness to them. He needs machinery, simple, logical machinery.  Something he can take apart, and put back together the exact same way every time. emotions, and the humans they belong to are too dynamic. Too much variable, not enough conclusive data. Tony sighs heavily, and pushes himself out of the chair, taking a deep breath to steady himself as soon as he’s standing.

 

“I just… I need to go work on something. Clear my mind. I’ll… I’ll have FRIDAY remind me to come back up for dinner, ok?” he doesn’t wait for a response, because he knows Rhodey isn’t going to exactly understand. He means well, he really does, but… this is something Tony has to do.

 

It’s easy enough to get sucked into circuitry, and electronics when he gets properly settled. He’s got music on, something frantic enough to keep him out of his thoughts, and loud enough that he feels it in his chest. Probably not great for his hearing, but fuck his hearing at this point. Maybe if he manages to go deaf, he’ll finally stop hallucinating the metallic clang of vibranium smashing against Nitinol. (which wasn’t a bad idea for the last suit, it proved to be light enough to make flight les of an issue, and it should be easy enough to reshape, even after the heavy damage it took. If he can ever stop ignoring it, where it sits in the corner of his lab, a tarp draped over it.)

 

He’s completely absorbed in the project that he’s working on, soldering a short in a particularly tricky bit of circuitry, when FRIDAY chimes politely.

 

“Boss, it’s time for a break.” He hums to himself, a half annoyed, half exasperated sound. He’s too close to finishing off this last problem, he’ll take a break in a bit. Maybe five minutes pass, of him fiddling with the circuitry in peace, and then FRIDAY is chiming again.

 

“Boss…” somehow, she manages to sound sympathetic. “it’s been an hour. You should get something to eat.” Huh. An hour. That’s… interesting. That doesn’t mesh with his mental clock at all. Still, an hour isn’t that much time, and he’s survived worse.

 

“Thanks, Fri. I’m good, I’ll get something later.” There’s another long beat of silence, and Tony’s just started to turn his full attention back to the soldering pencil in his hand, when FRIDAY whirs again, softly.

 

“Boss, it’s not good for the…” she cuts herself off, and sounds genuinely apologetic when she comes back. “I’m… sorry, boss. It’s still in my code. You never removed the alerts after the… incident.”

 

Tonys mind spins away from his quickly, and his hands are shaking in a mere matter of seconds. It’s a strange position to be in, really. he’s panicky enough to be breaking down, but sane enough still, to watch himself fall apart. He blinks a few times, and he could swear there’s blood on his hands. He knows from experience, it never matters how many times he washes them, they won’t come clean. They won’t come clean, because it’s not actually there. He sets his tools down gingerly, and takes a shakey breath.

 

“Disable the protocol, FRIDAY. Just… Just strip it all, ok?” he huffs out a semi-hysterical laugh. “that was a long time ago.”

 

**

It’s not so long ago, that things were… as close to perfect, as Steve ever thought they would get. he had a home. A family to fill it with. He had hope for the future, for the first time in a long, _long_ time. it’s not so long ago, that Tony would be here with him, rambling about how he could improve some piece of technology, or the redundancies in his newest iteration of an AI, to prevent it gaining sentience. (it turns out, he could learn a lesson, as much as Steve liked to tease him for being stubborn.) it’s not so long ago, that Steve would have been _okay_.

 

Everything’s different now, and orienting himself to it is the hardest fucking thing. He can look back, from a clear, analytical perspective, and see so very many moments where a different choice might have saved them all of this heartache, but... none of that does him any good now. It doesn’t tell him how to take the shards of a broken life all around him, and assemble it into something resembling anything useful. The worlds best tactician, he’s supposed to be, and he can’t even talk to his omega. His… previous omega? Fuck, he doesn’t even know what to call Tony anymore.

 

He rolls over onto his side, and fixes the plain white wall with a blank stare for long enough that his eyes start to water, from not blinking. One thing’s for damn sure he thinks, as he clutches the burner phone that much tighter in his hand. This, what he’s doing right now, isn’t getting anything done.

 

Maybe it would be better, to reach out to Tony, get rejected and just get it over with. at least then, he wouldn’t be in limbo like this, wondering if they’ll fix things, work it out and make something out of this god awful nightmare, or if they’re done forever. He sighs and shakes his head at himself. why is it so hard to make a simple decision? He’s supposed to be an alpha, a protector, the one that’s self assured in any situation. So much for that.

 

He burrows under the thick duvet on his bed, even more, trying to tuck himself into as small of a ball as he can manage. The thing about hiding though, is that it only works if you’re not hiding from yourself. His thoughts, not surprisingly, don’t go anywhere, and he growls in frustration at himself, flopping onto his back and glaring up at the ceiling.

 

His personal phone’s on the nightstand, right next to him. It’s entirely too easy to reach over, swipe the simple lock screen pattern, and fire up a quick Google search. But Tony’s not in the news. Not for Stark Industries, not for the UN, not for the Avengers, or even for trashy Celeb tabloids. It’s like he just… fell off the face of the planet, a month or so after Siberia. The most recent article that Steve can find mentions a brief hospital stint, and that makes his stomach churn. That… that has to be something that he did. That has to be injuries sustained in that god forsaken bunker, and being left in a frozen tundra, in a nonfunctioning suit. Steve slams his phone down, shoving it under the pillows, and turning over to get ready for sleep. He nestles the burner phone in its rightful place on the low bookshelf next to his bed, plugging it in, even though he hasn’t the vaguest clue as to why.

 

This same pattern repeats itself several times over the next few days, much to Steve’s chagrin. Every single nights starts, and ends the same as the one before it, like he’s stuck on a rollercoaster of emotions, no way to change the outcome, and no way out but through. By the fourth night, he’s frustrated enough with himself, that he has to make a concerted effort to loosen his grip, when he hears the burner phone groan menacingly. He wishes he could say that the message that he types out is heartfelt, and concise, and eloquent, but it’s… it’s anything but. It’s simplistic, and wek, and it’s frankly the shortest thing that he could type, using the fifteen seconds of bravery he had, before it evaporated away again.

 

[Hey.]

 

He groans softly, and flops back into the mattress, debating the merits of attempting to suffocate himself with his own pillow.

 

Tony’s down in the workshop when he hears it: a sharp, tinny chime from the drawer Rhodey made him lock the burner phone away in. Well, Rhodey didn’t make him lock it away, but both Rhodey and his therapist agreed that it would probably be better for him and his recovery if he didn’t spend a solid two hours a day holding the phone in his hands and staring at it as though he could use it to telepathically communicate with Steve. So, he and Rhodey locked it away, and Rhodey left the keys in a little box on the opposite side of the workshop, because Tony swore he wouldn’t unlock the drawer.

 

And he didn’t. He hasn’t.

Not yet, anyway.

 

His fingers have started trembling where he’s working on a circuit board, accidentally frying the delicate wiring. Dum-E approaches with his fire extinguisher, and Tony barely has time to get out a, “Ah!” to get the bot to back off. He really needs to take the extinguisher away from him. Flicking his equipment off so as to not set the ‘shop on fire, he leans back in his chair, gaze gravitating back towards the drawer.

 

He shouldn’t answer it. He really shouldn’t answer it. If he answers it, weeks (/months/) of progress are down the drain. All for naught.

 

His bottom lip starts to hurt from where he’s worrying at it, and he pushes himself slowly up from his seat, making his way across the room and grabbing the key out of the wooden box. He turns it over in his hand a few times, giving himself room to set it back and give up on the ridiculous notion that Steve might still care about him. Somehow, he ends up with the burner in his hand, flipped open with the screen displaying Steve’s message. Tony raises an eyebrow, and sends one back before he can think twice about it.

 

[Hi.]

Steves so convinced that he's not going to get a response that when the phone goes off, he nearly jumps out of the bed with shock. He tries to calm himself down before he opens the phone, tries to squash that feeling that's entirely too close to 'excitement' for comfort. After all, it could be an automatic response, a non-existent number letting him know his text hadn't got through. Tony may have contacted the company, got the service cut. Someone else could have the number now.

 

The hi he gets back isn't exactly he most encouraging thing, but he didn't exactly give Tony much to work with, did he? Three letters, one word, does not a best selling novel, or a good conversation make. He pines about what to say in response for so long that he just about decides that he's entirely socially inept. This shouldn't be so hard. Not with Tony. Tony, of all people, who’s been as good as his other half for almost as long as he’s been out of the ice. He sighs.

[I don't...  You don't owe me anything, Tony.  Believe me I know that.  but for what it's worth... I'm worried about you.  Are you alright?]

 He ends up deleting the last few words, because of course he's not alright. How the hell could he be?

 

Tony huffs out a quiet scoff at Steve’s message, ignoring the fact that Dum-E’s attempting to drape a blanket around his shoulders with minimal success. In lieu of Rhodey being in physical therapy most evenings, the bots have taken to ensuring that Tony’s well fed and rested, and shoving a blanket in Tony’s direction is Dum-E’s typical way of telling him that it’s time for bed. But it’s only eight in the evening, which means it’s something like two in the morning for Steve. He has to wonder if that means that Steve’s having as much trouble sleeping as he is. Probably not—Steve has Bucky there to comfort him, after all.

 

For the longest time, he debates what he should say back. There are so many things he wants to say, wants to tell Steve, the most obvious one a nagging thought in the back of his brain. But he can’t make himself say that. Steve didn’t know that Tony was pregnant—Hell, Tony hadn’t known that he was pregnant until it was too late.

 

U sets a mug of something—herbal tea, maybe, if the smell is anything to go by—on the desk next to Tony, and both bots watch him expectantly. “’m not going to bed,” he mutters, reaching out to pat Dum-E’s claw. “Too early.”

 

[Don’t be. It’s not your job to worry about me anymore.]

 

Steve's completely gutted with that one single text, and he stares at the screen so long, he feels his eyes start to go unfocused and tingly. So this is it, then.  The way the best relationship he ever had ends, is with bitterness, and insults.

 

He can't say he doesn't deserve as much.

 

He sighs, and flips the phone back open, meaning to type out a final goodbye if nothing else. He's surprisingly numb, he thinks absently. Hell, maybe he knew this was coming all along.

 

[I'll worry about you as long as I love you, Tony; until the day I die.]

 

It sounds dramatic, even when he reads it to himself. It's the truth, but maybe he shouldn't be that blunted. He sighs and deletes the message.

 

[I'll always worry about you, Tony.]

 

Tony doesn’t even think before he responds to that message, an ugly anger welling up somewhere deep in his belly.

 

[You weren’t worried in Siberia.]

 

It’s cruel and he knows it, but he can’t exactly say he’s sorry for it. He can’t even say he /wishes/ he was, because he doesn’t. If Steve thinks he can get by with a few messages and an apology letter that wasn’t even really an apology letter, then he’s got another thing coming.

 

Dum-E presses forward with the blanket more insistently, and Tony rolls his eyes, taking the blanket off the bot and moving to set it over on the couch in the corner. “I’ll go up to bed, alright?” he asks, and he’d feel crazy if he didn’t know that they could understand him. They couldn’t respond, but they could understand. Burner phone in hand, he heads for the elevator, already wondering whether or not he should’ve just left it in the drawer.

 

Steve's holding back tears, but he manages to make himself read the message over and over again, committing every single word to memory. He knows it isn't true, he knows Tony's hurt and lashing out, with good reason, but it doesn't make him feel any less scum for it.

 

It's with shaking hands that he finally manages to flip the phone open and type out what he fully expects to be the last message he'll ever send to Tony. A wave of depression is starting to boil just under the surface, but there's a grim determination in the way he types his farewell.

 

[ I always cared, Tony. Always. I didn't want to hurt you. I didn't want hurt anyone, - _least_ \- of all, you. I'm glad you're... Alive.] he doesn't say ok, because he's pretty damn positive that Tony isn't any semblance of that word. He knows for an honest to god fact, that he isn’t.

 

Tony’s got half a mind to throw the phone across the room, see if he could break it to avoid furthering the breaking of his heart. He hates all of this, and he’s always responded to anything he hates with destruction. There aren’t any mirrors in the apartment anymore for that exact reason. None in the workshop, either, and he’s ensured that the walls are permanently blacked out. What he hates most of all is that he knows Steve’s lying. He’s trying to save face. He’s realised that the Rogues can’t stay on the run forever and is trying to make amends, or he’s trying to get back into Tony’s good books so he’ll speak to the UN on their behalf, or he’s just lying for the sake of it. Maybe he got bored and decided he wanted to screw around with Tony’s emotions.

But there’s still a reluctance to say any of that, because Tony’s lying too. He hates all of this, the situation they’ve found themselves in, but he doesn’t hate Steve. He sniffs, uses his free hand to wipe away a tear threatening to fall as he types out a message.

 

[I’m glad you’re alive, too. I just…I can’t do this, Steve.]

 

The sound of the burner going off again is almost  enough to make Steve break. He's torn between excitement, because his omega is still talking to him and dread, because it can be nothing but bad, surely. He opens the phone with trepidation, and bites down on his own lip, trying to keep from screaming in hurt and frustration and confusion. He manages, but only just.

 

[I know. I can't...god I can't either Tony. I can't eat, I can't sleep, I Can't go five minutes without wanting you here. Beside me. I'm sorry I messaged you, ok? I guess... I don't know what I was thinking.]

 

Tony’s in the middle of tugging his shirt off over his head when the phone goes off where he’s set it on the counter. He tries to maintain his breathing, level and easy, as he lets his fingers trace over the scar beneath his stomach. He hates the fact that they’d needed to open him up to repair damage to the walls of his uterus and stop the risk of him bleeding out, because it’s left him with a scar that looks similar enough to the ones omegas are left with if they choose to have a c-section, and that…that hurts too much to think about. How he should have Steve here, with him, and they should have a baby in a cot by their bed, and instead he has neither.

 

With a sigh, he tugs his boxers up a little higher to cover the scar, turning on the faucets for the bath. He skims over Steve’s message, ignores the aching emptiness in his chest, and moves instead to Steve’s contact information, hesitating only for a moment before he hits the call button. There’s a lot that can get lost through text alone, he supposes. It’d…It’d be better to talk. _Actually_ talk.

 

Steve's crumpled into the bed, and full on sobbing, when the phone goes off, a tinny, shrill ring, that cuts through him, leaving what feels like an open, exposed hole in his chest. He wonders briefly, if he might just be hallucinating, if it could just be wishful thinking so strong that it's causing him to break from reality. He whines softly, and reaches out for it, anyway, taking a moment to be comforted by the vibration he definitely feels, before flipping it open in one smooth move.

 

"H-hullo?" He knows his voice has to sound like shit, rough, and raw, and exposed, like a nerve, but hey that's kind of how all of him feels. He sniffs softly, and swipes a hand over his eyes, trying his damndest to come back to his senses properly. "Hello?"

 

 “I want you here too,” Tony says, the words falling past one another in an effort to get out of his mouth before he can change his mind. It’s absolutely terrifying admitting to that, even after everything Steve’s put him through. He feels like an abused puppy that always ends up crawling back to the owner that just kicked it. And he knows that isn’t a fair comparison because Steve never has been abusive, but Siberia…It confuses things. A lot.

He takes a few steps away from the bath so that the sound of running water doesn’t overpower the sound of his voice through the line. At least it covers the way his heart’s pounding against his ribs in his chest. “I miss you, and I haven’t been able to get a single night of solid sleep since”—/since they sedated me at the hospital because I woke up in hysterics after the surgery and nothing could calm me down, not even Rhodey—“you left. I haven’t been eating, and the bots have to keep reminding me to fucking shower, and—and¬—” He cuts himself off, runs a hand through his hair and notes, absently, that it’s getting too long. But like hell is he going to let anyone go near his head with scissors—they can be made into a weapon too easily. “I miss you,” he repeats, the words far softer and too near a whine for his own liking.

 

It takes every little scrap of will that Steve has left, not to break down in tears all over again, but he's not exactly sure over what. Relief, because Tony isn't angry, because they're finally talking. Hope, because those words are what he's been craving to hear, since he dropped the shield. Terror, because what if it's all a trap. What if this is to lure him back Home, and hand him over to the UN on a silver platter. Worse, what if it's not, and he manages to fuck it up again, ruins whatever chance they could have had? Eventually, he realizes he's been quiet too long and he sighs, attempting to gather his thoughts.

"I miss you too. So much, Tony. I can't... I can't breathe through it sometimes. God, I want you here, beside me..." Pregnant, married, happy. All the things you deserve. All the things I took from you. "Everything's so... Fucked up." Tony chuckles, but there’s no humor in it.

 

“You could say that,” he mutters, mostly to himself, as he sets about turning the faucets off when he deems there to be enough water in the bath. Tucking the phone between his ear and his shoulder—because putting it on speaker seems so far detached from anything remotely personal, for some reason he can’t parse right now—he unscrews the cap of a bottle of bubble solution, one that smells vaguely like the cologne Steve used to wear. Tony is unfortunately aware of how pathetic that sounds, which is why he’s never, ever going to admit to it aloud. “I can’t be there, though,” he adds after a moment, when there are far too many bubbles forming in the water. He’ll get lost under there. His voice is soft, but this time Steve’s meant to hear it. “You know that, right? I can’t—God, Steve, you know I’d love to be able to run away with you to…wherever the hell you are, but the UN would pick up on that immediately. I just…I wish I could turn back time, and tell our past selves to figure out some other way. But that’s not exactly a doable thing, huh?” He’d also tell himself from before the ‘civil war’ that he was pregnant, and to not do anything stupid, but too late for that. And Steve doesn’t need to know that either.

 

Steve whines softly, because Tony is absolutely right. There's not a damn thing they can do now, aside from wish that things had gone differently. Everything had gone down so quickly, in the blink of an eye damn near, and now they're just left in the wake of the destruction.  He sighs, and runs a hand through his hair, trying to collect what there is is left of his thoughts. It's a losing battle, as they're left just as scattered as ever.

"You could... We could meet somewhere else. We couldn't really stay long, without someone noticing, but... It could be something." He falls completely silent, holding his breath in anticipation. It feels like his entire life is hanging in the balance, and he can't breathe. It all comes down to this knee moment, the will he, won't he.

Tony’s breath catches in his throat at Steve’s suggestion, and he half expects Rhodey to come crashing through the door and slap the phone out of his hand, into the water. Rhodey seems to have developed a sixth sense for when Tony’s about to do something incredibly, incredibly stupid, and Tony would be lying if he said it hadn’t saved him from more than one near death experience. It would make things easier now, for certain, because Tony doesn’t know what he wants.

 

On the one hand, he wants to decline, say that it’s not a good idea. He knows that the second Steve comes anywhere near him, he’s going to crumble. According to both Rhodey and Peter (because Peter doesn’t know the difference between being helpful and pointing out something Tony’s been trying to ignore), Tony’s scent has shifted into something sour over the last few months, tainted with grief and bitterness. It happens to every omega that loses their alpha, through death or…whatever the hell Steve and Tony went through. A dramatic, tragic break-up, maybe.

On the other hand…

“I’m staying at the Avengers Compound,” he says hesitantly, stripping off his boxers and lowering himself into the bubbles. Maybe they’ll swallow him whole. “Rhodey, uh, thought it would be good for me if I was around other people, but I’ve still got the old tower under my name. Haven’t been there in months and the business has moved to the Californian HQ. Nobody…Nobody would know if we went there.” He pauses, afraid Steve'll think this is a trap. God knows, after all of the shit between them, it really would be the icing on the cake.

"Or we could meet somewhere in the middle. Italy, maybe. I, uh, never did get the chance to show you the summer house." Steve knows he's breathing shallowly now, but he observes it, more in the periphery than in central focus. It's just a fact that's there. His heart is hammering in his chest, beating a symphony against his ribs, and he swallows thickly, the resultant click sound echoing loud in te dead space around him.

Tony said yes. He actually agreed to see Steve, to be in the same place with him after months of stereo silence. Steve whines softly, as he pushes himself up to sitting in the bed.

 

"I... Italy. Please." He hates asking Tony to do this for him, to go across several time zones because he's a sad sack. But the rogues have better image in the public eye, in most parts of Europe, versus where they're Villainized  in America. It's something to keep in mind, should they be spotted, and god, how he hopes they aren’t spotted. They really don’t need to be doing this at all. He huffs out a nervous breath, and runs a hand through his hair, making a quick mental plan. He needs a jet, needs to make an excuse why he's gone. Needs to tell Bucky to keep his fat mouth shut, because he’s going to know, the moment he looks at Steve’s face. It's nothing undoable. He just needs to get moving, use the cover of night to make this as invisible as possible. And then soon... Soon, he'll have Tony back, in whatever capacity it means.He shifts lightly in the bed, and his hips pop uncomfortably, pulling an involuntary growl out of him. And that’s not… that’s not ideal, is it? A sinking cold icy feeling washes over him and he whines as he's hit with a sudden realization.

 

"Fuck... Tony I... In in pre-rut. It hit this afternoon." Tony closes his eyes and allows his head to thunk back against the edge of the bath, phone still held to his ear. Meeting with Steve while he’s in rut would be a bad idea and Tony knows it, but there’s some small part of him that still wants to be there regardless. Tony and Steve haven’t been apart for so long that their cycles are no longer synced, though Tony’s not due to his pre-heat for another two days, so their cycles are beginning to edge apart. The thought shouldn’t scare him as much as it does.

He drags his free hand through the lukewarm water—anything hotter is uncomfortable and stuffy, even two days out from heat—as he tries to figure out how to put his thoughts into words.

 

“I’ll go into pre-heat on Thursday,” he says, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling. “Listen, Steve, if you don’t want to meet while we’re caught up in the middle of our cycles, I’m not going to blame you,” he adds, even though his hindbrain cringes at the idea of not spending a heat with his alpha, especially so soon after…everything that happened. The doctors assured him the damage to his uterus was contained and repaired, and it may make future conception more difficult, but it wouldn’t do anything to dampen the effects of his heats. “I get it. Emotions are gonna be high enough when we meet, and it’s probably idiotic to do that while you’re in rut and I’m in heat, but I’ll be there if you want me to be.”

 

Steve should agree. He should sigh, and drop his head into his hands, and let it go, make a smart decision for once in his miserable life, but he doesn’t _want_ to. He wants Tony. he wants all of this to be over, and if that means meeting up this close to their cycles synching up, then fuck it, that’s what’s going to happen. He clears his throat softly, and shifts uncomfortably on the bed, fully aware that he’s about to make a questionable decision at best.

 

“I… actually, if you don’t mind… I mean, I understand if you want to back out. But… I’m ok with it.” He worries at the thick duvet, where he’s balled it up in his hands. He’s nervous, and it shows in every single line of his posture, but it’s going to be ok. It has to be, because he’s this close to having tony back again. “I’m… I’m still on suppressants. And I’ll wear patches, and scent blockers, if you want just… god, Tony, I miss you. I’m ok with it, if you are.” There’s a moment of silence between them, a few beats of nothing in the dead air space that’s significant enough to have them both on edge, and then finally, mercifully, Tony speaks.

 

"I miss you too," Tony says, voice loud in the quiet bathroom. His fingers are trailing along the scar on the underside of his stomach now, because it would be so easy to tell Steve. It would be so easy to put it all out in the open and get it off his mind, clear his conscience even if he knows he has nothing to feel guilty about. But Steve would. Steve would blame himself and not want to meet up, even if the doctors Tony asked all told him the same thing: the trauma from Siberia isn't what caused the miscarriage. He hesitates for a moment. "Steve?" he says, and doesn't wait for a response before continuing. "Don't... Can you not take scent blockers? I don't... I don't like them -- they make you smell too clinical and not...not like you. I want to be with you, not you on five different medications.” Steve’s shocked, he can’t say he’s not, but he loves this omega than any other thing on the damn planet, and he couldn’t tell him no, if his life depended on it. He swallows thickly, and nods, feeling his stomach flip in nervous anticipation.

 

“sure, Tony.”


	3. I Caught Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Seemed to stop my breath, My head on your chest Waiting to cave in.  
> From the bottom of my Hear your voice again Could we dim the sun And wonder where we've been?  
> Maybe you and me. 
> 
> So kiss me like you did, My heart stopped beating. Such a softer sin" -I caught Fire

Tony shifts slightly where he's waiting on the couch of the summer house, watching the TV without really watching it. Pre-heat kicked in early this morning, and the cramps only stopped an hour or so ago, which means that Tony can feel the beginnings of slick between this thighs. He's beginning to wonder whether or not this was a bad idea.

 

He shouldn't be here. Not when he's in heat and Steve's in rut. Rhodey would call him crazy if he knew what he was doing -- as it is, Rhodey thinks he's taking some time to get his head straight. But it's too late to turn back now. He's told Steve the address, and that the front door is open, and now all there's left to do is wait. There's an uneasy feeling in his stomach, and his shoulders feel weighed down with the knowledge that he's going to have to tell Steve about the loss of their pup sooner or later, but to tell an alpha in rut something like that probably isn't the best idea. Lord knows Steve's going to be emotional enough as it is.

 

Steves pacing back and forth, nervous already. His pre rut is only getting worse, and with it, his patience is filtering away. His eyes, which had been filtering back and forth between their usual blue and a firey alpha glow at some point had final swapped to gold, and stayed that way. Means he's closer to rut than not now, and things are only getting more dangerous from here. The jet he'd been loaned (officially. With no stealing involved, to his surprise, and little more red tape than a knowing nod from T'challa, that he's sworn to ask about later.) hovers low over the abandoned vineyard. It's odd, to be here, now, so close to Tony after so long apart. He swallows thickly, and engages the cloaking mechanism. Now or never.

 

The estate is gorgeous. It's got a sweeping lawn, and tons of trees for shade. It's idyllic. He could see himself and Tony living here, raising kids, being happy. He shakes his head, and scoffs at himself, bitter at how his rut is making him act overly paternal. Tony probably doesn't want kids with him anyway. in all the time that they’d He raises his hand over the heavy oak door, and Knocks lightly, terrified of the response. What if Tony doesn’t answer. What if he isn’t even here, it’s entirely possible he changed his mind, and decided not to show at all? He bites gently at his lower lip, worrying it in between his teeth, and silently panicking about everything.

 

Tony's spine straightens at the sound of Steve knocking against the door, the way it seems entirely too loud in the otherwise quiet house. The TV's on low in the background, some trashy Italian soap opera that Tony long ago stopped paying attention to, and he can feel his fight or flight response kicking into gear. There's no more postponing this, really. He pushes himself up from the couch slowly, careful to not move too much because his doctors advised him to stay away from blockers and suppressants for his first heat post-surgery, allow his body to fully recover, and he's marginally petrified of Steve catching the scent.

 

Not, mind you, that Tony can't already smell Steve from the other side of the door, woodsy and deep, with the softest hint of sweetness, like a campfire and roasting marshmallows. He smells perfect. He smells like _home._

Tony undoes the locks with shaking hands, the butterflies in his stomach worsening, to the point that they’re damn near bats now, and he absentmindedly wonders if maybe the doctors didn't actually fix him. It doesn't matter now. Opening the door, Tony doesn't hesitate to throw himself at Steve, arms going around the alpha's neck, and it's a move he's blaming entirely on his heat.

 

"Missed you." It feels like the umpteenth time he's said it recently, but there's something better about saying it in person.

 

Steve means to say something, means to offer tony reassurance, or tell him he missed him too (he did, oh god, he did) but he isn’t prepared to have a hundred and eighty pounds of solid nervous energy flung directly into the center of his chest, and he’s definitely not expecting the sweet smoky scent of heat, not this strong, and not this early. He growls, low in his chest, and some part of his brain that’s functioning more on baser instinct and what feels good, rather than actual logical thought, moves quickly, catching Tony’s slight weight (god, it’s so slight, has he always been this light? Is he eating enough?) and lifting him up into the air.

 

The reflexes of the human body truly are fascinating. Tony goes with the movement naturally, wrapping his legs around Steve’s hips, and tightening them enough to keep them close, and to keep himself from slipping down. Steve groans softly, and suddenly everything is much, much less innocent.

 

It’s too soon. It’s too soon, and it’s too much, and they haven’t talked about anything yet, they shouldn’t be doing any of this, but It’s so _so_ fucking easy to take a step forward, press Tony’s back up against the doorframe, and mouth eagerly at his swollen scent glands. His scent explodes in Steves mouth, bitter and sweet, cloying, like treacle.

“Missed you too, Star. God, I missed you too.” The nickname rolls out of his mouth with no effort, just like it always has, but this time, it makes something in his chest ache. It’s the first time he’s used it in ages, and it feels so bittersweet.

 

It had started as a joke, something Clint said offhandedly after the battle of New York, so long ago, a comment about Tony being the star of the show, with the way he laid himself on the line to protect innocent people. Tony, being who he was, took it in stride, played it off as a joke, but it got Steve to thinking. He was always a star in more ways than just his attitude.

 

Steve hesitates to say that he was suicidal, coming out of the ice. He never had a plan or a note. Hell, there wouldn’tve been anyone around to read it, but the S.H.I.E.L.D lackeys that treated him like something under a microscope slide anyway. He’s not even sure if he could have killed himself, but the thought had occurred more than once. And then there was Tony Stark. Loud, brash, over the top Tony Stark, that crashed into Steve’s life violently enough, that it rearranged every single thing about it. The proverbial ‘big bang’ that got him out of his own misery. The first light in a long, long era of darkness. Tony always led him back home, from every single rough mission, every sleepless night, every time he felt out of place and unwanted in this century… Tony was always there, giving him his bearings, no matter how lost he was. His own personal North star.

 

The more and more Steve thought about it, the more the moniker of Star seemed like it fit Tony. they were always volatile in the beginning, reactive, like Cesium and water, burning into a compound so much bigger that itself, rapidly enough to shatter everything around it. Some of their fights were nuclear in their intensity, but no matter what they did to each other, Tony stayed every bit his bright, beautiful self, burning just as brightly as he ever did. Steve knew he loved him even as they stood on the helicarrier in 2012, spitting venom and vitriol at each other.

 

Watching Tony fly that nuke into the wormhole, thinking he might not come back… that was what made it click, and for the worst fifteen minutes of his life, Steve wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to see the night sky as anything but dim and weak, now that it’s brightest star was staring down another galaxy, waiting to blink out.

 

There's a sound torn out of Tony's chest that sounds halfway to a sob, and Tony doesn't know if it's relief from being so close to Steve, from hearing that after it all, he’s still Steve’s star, or if it's something closer to neediness, because Steve being near him both eases and worsens the heat at the same time, and that's ten different shades of confusing. He shifts ever so slightly, careful to not topple both himself and Steve (though he doubts he could really topple Steve, even if he wanted to) and uses one hand to push Steve's mouth away from his scent glands, instead ducking down to kiss him.

 

Logically, in the back of his head, Tony knows he has to shut this down, that he and Steve can't sleep together, and they definitely can't spend an entire cycle together. He told Rhodey he'd be gone for two weeks, but spending almost a week in heat and then a week generally with Steve (if he can stay that long) is only going to mean Tony's returning home smelling like him.

 

"I'm so sorry," he says, the words leaving him in a rush as he pulls back to look at Steve. He doesn't really know what he's apologising for: the civil war, the accords, not knowing he was pregnant, losing their child, not telling Steve about it. He just knows he has to apologise. "Steve, I don't--I can't--I'm sorry." He falls silent for a moment, watching Steve watching him, and then adds a quiet, "We should go inside. In case...In case anyone sees us." There isn't anyone for miles around and they both know it, but Tony's still a tad paranoid.

 

Tony’s apologies make Steve whine softly, and he pulls away, slowly but determinedly, like he’s been scolded for something. He should have known better, should have allowed Tony more space. They haven’t seen each other in months, and this… this is all too much at once.

 

He shifts their position slightly, and sets Tony gently down, giving him a moment or two to make sure that he’s steady on his feet, before taking a healthy step back. It’s awful, and his hindbrain screams at him to step back into Tony’s space again, but that isn’t what they need right now. They need to talk.

“Don’t—” he cuts himself off, as he realizes that his word comes out laced with more growl than actual voice, dripping in alpha influence. He clears his throat, and closes his eyes for a moment or two, to focus, because if he doesn’t get it under control, he’s going to end up Voicing accidentally, and that hasn’t happened since puberty.

 

“Don’t apologize. Please, honey, you… we were both wrong.” He steps into the house slowly, moving to the other side of the room, to give Tony as much space as he can afford him. Each step further away pains him physically, and it’s a damn near battle to get to the far wall, where he eventually leans, tucking his hands into his hoodie. This isn’t going to be easy on either of them.

 

With a bit of distance in between them, he’s actually able to look at Tony, actually look at him for the first time. he smiles softly. “Your hair’s long.” Not like he has any right to comment on it, lumberjack that he looks like. “It’s… I like it.”

Tony shuts and locks the door behind himself, leaving the key in the lock to make it clear that this isn't any kind of trap and that Steve can walk out whenever he wants to. If Tony hopes that he doesn't want to, well, Steve doesn't need to know that. He runs a hand through his hair, a self-conscious little thing because he hasn't had his hair this long since Afghanistan for very good trauma-related reasons, and is halfway through trailing across the room after Steve -- he's not paying attention enough to realize it's happening -- when he comes back to himself and stop by the couch. There's maybe twenty feet between them, and it's entirely too much.

 

"I like the beard," he says quietly, and he resists the urge to point out the fact that Steve looks like he's trying to copy Thor. He puts his hands in the pockets of his jeans, unsure of what to do with them. Obie always told him that his hands were his biggest tell, that he'd fiddle too much when he was nervous or intimidated, and hiding them in pockets is a habit that Tony's still keeping up years after Obie's death.

 

"Steve, I'm not...I'm not apologising for our fight," he says, glancing down at the ground and then back up to meet Steve's eyes. He can do this. It's likely a horrible idea that he'll regret five seconds out in the open, but he can do this. "I mean -- I hate the fact that we fought, yeah, obviously, but I'm not apologising for that. I didn't..." He trails off, unsure of how to best approach this. Steve needs to know. "I was pregnant, Steve. I didn't know, was too stressed to catch onto any of the signs my body was giving me, and I don't -- I'm sorry." Steve feels like he’s been punched through with something. His heart thuds painfully, and he blinks rapidly once, twice, before he feels a tear fall off the end of his lashes.

 

“oh god.”

 It’s all he can think to say, for a long time. Tony was pregnant. He doesn’t have to think too hard, to remember back to the last heat they shared. Before everything went to shit. When they were happy, when they actually looked toward the future with hope rather than trepidation. He closes his eyes, and lets out a deep breath. The fact that Tony’s here, in Italy, for at least a week, if he plans to stay through his heat means that… the prognosis isn’t good. Steve clears his throat, and he’s damn proud of himself, for his voice not cracking with the sob that he’s trying to hold back.

 

“did…” but he knows the answer, doesn’t he? He shakes his head weakly. “I killed them.” it’s matter of fact, flat and impartial, like most truths are. He can feel his mind starting to work double time, trying to recover from the worst news he thinks he’s ever heard, and knowing that he’s the cause.

 

"No," Tony says, crossing the space between himself and Steve in a heartbeat. He'd known this would happen, had known that Steve would take on the blame just as Tony had in the initial weeks after the miscarriage, even after the doctors had informed him that the miscarriage wasn't anything caused by trauma. It had started five days after Tony got home from Siberia, after all, and the majority agreed that if it had been trauma-related, it would have either happened in the immediate aftermath or a day after. Not five. Tony moves to take Steve's hands in his own, even if there's resistance there from Steve. It stings, but Tony knows it's nothing personal.

 

 "No, you didn't," he says, forcing himself to look at Steve. "I went to every doctor and every expert I could find asking for an opinion on it, Steve, because I was so fucking convinced that the pup would've survived if I hadn't followed you to Siberia, but that -- that's not what caused it." He takes a breath, drops his gaze down to their hands. "It's a genetic thing. I didn't know it, but Howard and mom apparently had trouble conceiving because mom kept miscarrying. The doctors don't think it's a hostile uterus, so much as something more like a uterus that isn't the, uh, normal shape, I guess. I didn't even start to miscarry until I was already recovering from Siberia. So, no, Steve, you didn't cause it."

 

"But, uh, the miscarriage itself caused a tear in the uterus wall, and the doctors managed to repair it," he says, "but it will likely affect the chances of me successfully carrying to term in the future. I just...I thought you should know."

 

Steve’s confused, initially, lost on why it sounds so very much like Tony’s trying to apologize for something beyond his control, and then it clicks. he’s talking about the future. A future that they might actually have. The simple revelation is enough to nearly choke him with emotion, and his next breath is ragged. “Tony. I don’t… I don’t care. I don’t care if we never have pups.” He promises softly.

 

As much as he doesn’t trust himself to do it, still afraid that these hands are the ones that took their pup form them, he rests both hands on the curve of Tony’s jawline, applying gentle pressure, until he looks up. “I love you. ‘ve always loved you. You’re my family ok, and you’re… everything I’ve ever needed.”

 

Tears well up in his golden eyes, and when he blinks, they spill over, though he makes no attempt to wipe them away. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that alone.” "I wasn't alone," Tony says softly, because it feels important that Steve knows that. "I had Rhodey and Peps, and Peter, though sometimes the kid does more harm than he does good." Never intentionally, but Peter doesn't tend to navigate well in tense situations, and the first few weeks after Tony woke up from the surgery felt like something else entirely. Whether it was ill-timed jokes or treating him like he could break at any moment...Yeah, Tony gets Peter was just trying to look after him and keep him safe, but that's meant to be what Tony does for him, not the other way around.

 

There's a small, bitter part of him that fears Steve's words aren't true. Tony knows how much family means to Steve, and how much he'd wanted to be a father before everything with the Accords had gone down. He remembers wanting it for himself, too, which is possibly the weirdest feeling he can remember. Him. Wanting to be a dad.

 

"I love you too," he says quietly, leaning forward to rest his head against Steve's chest. "You weren't responsible for this, Steve. And I know you would've been a great dad if...if either of us had known, and it had gone differently" Steve smiles softly, thinking of Peter, and his excess of energy, trying to take care of Tony who’s got to be hands down, the worst patient Steve’s ever met. It’s amusing, but he feels a little guilty for smiling at it. Tony’s next words cut straight through him, more than he would have expected, and he shoves the feeling to the side, violently, vowing to spend as little time thinking about it, as possible.

 

“You would’ve, too. And maybe… maybe you’ll get your chance, again.” he shrugs slightly, the movement rocking Tony gently. He tries not to imagine himself as the alpha that gives Tony the chance again, and fails miserably. He sighs softly, and wraps his arms around Tony, holding him close, careful to keep his grip loose enough that Tony could break out of it, if he wanted to. After a few moments, Steve leans down gently, to press a soft kiss to the corner of Tony’s temple, where a headache tends to settle in the early stages of heat, before his instincts take over enough, to make pain an afterthought. “You should be resting while you can.” He mutters softly, already half convinced that Tony won’t take the advice. He never did.

 

The corner of Tony's lips ticks up in a smile, and he's relieved that Steve can't see it with the way they're standing. He doesn't really want to rest, never has been one to take that particular piece of advice every alpha who's ever helped him through a heat has offered, but he hasn't been sleeping much lately, either. Heading into a heat with his energy levels already below a baseline is a one way ticket to disaster. "Good to know that some things never change," he mutters, tightening his grip around Steve's waist for half a second before he lets go entirely and steps back, out of Steve's arms, much as it pains him to do so.

 

He can feel a blush rising to his cheeks before he's even got the words out of his mouth, but it only worsens when he manages to do so.

 

"Can you -- uh -- Do you mind napping with me?" he asks, and he already knows the answer, but he needs to check anyway. Because things have changed between himself and Steve, and if Steve's already a day or so into rut, then the rest isn't going to be as peaceful for him as it will be for Tony. "There are enough bedrooms upstairs for us to do that up there, or we could stay down here, so you have the TV in case you can't sleep."

 

Steve smiles softly, and makes a concerted effort to keep the pleased rumble that wants to work its way out of his chest under control. “of course.” He says softly, just above a whisper. Honestly, he’d give damn near everything he has, to get to nap next to Tony, after everything that’s happened between them. He’s probably not going to be able to sleep well, not with the way the rut’s already burning away at his skin, pushing him further and further out of his own mind, but Tony doesn’t need to know that. Hell, if he’s being honest, Tony probably already knows that. They’ve done this enough. “wherever you’re most comfortable. Don’t worry about me.”

**

Steve’s dreams are disjointed and confusing, somewhere between nightmares, and dreams. He dreams in quick little snapshots, brief segments of things, that flow together much more like a flipbook, than a movie.

Skin on skin, whispered promises and moans that work into a jumble of wordless, meaningless syllables, that mean much more for their cadence and tone, than their actual meaning. A bright, burning feeling, that’s as comforting as falling asleep in the sun.

 

Things blank out for a while, and there’s little more than darkness, and heat, and the vague sensation that he’s not comfortable, no matter how he orients himself. just when it seems like it’s all over, there’s a scream that pierces the silence of his mind, and he tightens his grip on the pillow, senses on edge, only to realize it’s tony. it’s tony, in pain and desperate, worse than anything Steve can remember, and he’s on the cusp of tearing himself into consciousness, when his dream goes lucid, and he realizes that he’s still asleep.

 

Tony’s in a bed, in front of him. A hospital bed, by the looks of it, and he’s curled around a telltale bump. Steve takes a step closer, not sure what the fuck he’s meant to do, and dream Tony whines softly. _“Steve.”_ Steve opens his mouth to answer, but the call just comes again. _“Steve. Steve!”_

 

He snaps awake violently, eyes wide and breaths coming in ragged pants. “Tony? babe, you ok?”

 

"Are _you_?" Tony fires back, his tone a touch more incredulous than he intends. But he'd woken up to Steve murmuring nonsense right above his head, and the murmurs had quickly evolved into yelling and screaming. Tony hates to think that Steve might have spent months on his own like this, tortured by his own mind every damn night. Lord knows that Tony can't sleep, but he doesn't experience the nightmares as much because he doesn't let himself. Only when he passes out, and even then, he only wakes with a gasp and a cold sweat sticking his clothes to his skin.

 

He reaches out to run a hand through Steve's hair, pushing it back and away from his eyes. For once, Tony had fallen into a peaceful sleep, and he'd be lying if he said it had nothing to do with the scent of his alpha surrounding him as he drifted off, but waking to screaming...Yeah, more than a little unnerving.

 

"You're here with me, honey," he says softly, trying to remember how Pepper used to help him through his nightmares after 2012. "We're in Italy, and we're in my mom's old summer house, and we're both safe, alright? I'm completely fine, Steve. You almost kicked me off the bed with all your thrashing," he adds with a slight smile, because there was one night where Steve /did/ accidentally shove Tony out of bed. "But we're fine. Okay? You back with me?"Steve blinks a few more times, his eyes not quite focusing on what’s in front of them. His brain might be awake, but his body still hasn’t gotten the message. He groans softly.

 

“sorry. It was so… vivid.” He shakes his head, and whines when the motion causes him to feel dizzy. “fuck… sorry.” He closes his eyes for a few more moments, waiting for the world to stop spinning so damned much. Eventually, he fells more secure in his orientation, and he rolls over, wrapping an arm around Tony, and pulling him closer. “don’t usually do that.” He sighs softly, and rolls his shoulder just slightly, not surprised when the muscle tightens, resisting the motion. “guess ‘m far enough gone that my instincts are fucking with me. Do uh… you want me to go to another room?”

 

He hates the idea of leaving tony alone, of separating themselves, but he doesn’t want to do anything Tony doesn’t want. He’s been able to be ok so far, but it’s quickly becoming a slippery slope. He squirms briefly, and whines. “I know you said you didn’t want me to take scent blockers but… it’s getting worse. I get it if… if you want me to leave.”

 

Tony huffs out a quiet breath that's almost a chuckle, and shakes his head slightly, wriggling around for a few moments until he's turned around and is facing Steve. He knows that a good few hours have passed since he and Steve fell asleep, evidence by the fact that it's sunset outside, and really that says a lot given that they met before noon and sun doesn't set until eight or nine at night in the summer. It means neither of them have been sleeping, and being together allows them to do that a little easier, even if Steve still has his nightmares.

 

"Steve?" Tony asks, voice quiet, and he waits for the 'hm?' of acknowledgement from Steve before he murmurs a quiet, "For once in your life, shut up." It happens too fast for him to think about any possible repercussions, him leaning forward and kissing Steve. It's soft and gentle and quickly evolves into something that's anything but.

 

There's a gentle prickling underneath Tony's skin, a fire that he's fanning by staying this close to Steve, by kissing him and napping with him, but he can't bring himself to care. Maybe this is all a fluke and they're only getting along because of their cycles, or maybe they actually stand half a chance at making it.

 

He whines softly into the kiss, and they're pressed close enough together despite the size of the bed around them that Tony can roll his hips against Steve's, hoping that he gets the memo.

 

Steve closes his eyes, lets himself melt into the kiss. The sheer warmth of Tony, the fact that it’s actually _Tony_ after these long months, is chasing away the last of the bitter cold nightmares. Steve’s just about to the point of feeling halfway himself, when Tony rolls his hips against his. Steve breaks away from the kiss, with a sudden gasp, and he stares down at Tony, unsure. He’s ready to reassure Tony that it’s ok, that he doesn’t need to worry about them actually spending the heat together, but he’s seen that look before, that determined expression, that says ‘I won’t quit until I’ve finished what I started.’ It goes straight to his cock, and he growls softly.

“last chance, Tony. last chance to back out. You sure you wanna do this?”Tony stares at Steve for a few seconds, unwavering. If he's being honest, he's surprised that Steve is still this in control given how he's already at least a day and a half into rut. It's a miracle that they didn't end up with their clothes off the minute they saw each other, actually. When it becomes clear that Steve's going to need verbal consent and communication before he does anything, Tony leans close to kiss him again, then murmurs a,

 

"If you don't fuck me through this heat, I will go out and find another alpha to do it instead." It's a sentence designed to set off every instinct Steve might have when he's this far into rut because, if Tony remembers correctly (he always does), the possessiveness is one of the first traits that Steve gives in to. So Tony threatening to let another alpha fuck him should be somewhat effective at conveying his message, at the very least."I want this, Steve," he adds on a more serious note, before Steve can say anything. "I don't---I can't go through a heat alone. Please."

 

There’s a moment, a brief, flickering thing, where Steve’s eyes are still unsure, but it’s gone almost as soon as it starts, and he growls loudly, the sound ripping through the room in its ferocity. He flashes forward, and pulls tony into a kiss so desperate, it’s got to be just off of bruising. He rolls them gently, and pins tony to the mattress face down, easily. One hand comes up to grip at the back of his neck, his fingers digging in, in just the right spots, to be an effective scruff. Tony goes all but boneless underneath him, and Steve growls lowly in pleasure.

 

“Mine.” He says softly, a rough whisper in Tony’s left ear, before biting the lobe, just enough to be an added layer of sensation. “Mine, Tony, god damn, I’ve missed saying that.”

 

He pulls his hand back slowly, positive that Tony’ll stay exactly where he put him. He kisses down Tony’s back, as slowly as he can force himself to be. Tony’s skin is sweat slick, and fever flushed, and it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever fucking seen. He peppers a few gentle nibbles down Tony’s spine, and it’s all he can do, to keep from ripping his ruined boxers off, and rutting against him, fast and painful, and completely unnuanced. But this omega deserves so much more than that. Steve tugs Tony’s boxers slowly, as much as it pains him to do so, and he smirks at the way Tony raises his hips, in expectation.

 

“Such a good little thing for me, aren’t you, Tony? so good.” He doesn’t hesitate any longer, pulling Tony’s cheeks apart, and leaning forward, to lave at his hole slowly. The taste of slick, sweet and heavy and perfect, is almost enough to stagger Steve. He knows he growls again, but he can’t bring himself to care, in the slightest.

 

Tony cries out at the pleasure that courses through him, a short high whine that would've woke anyone nearby who wasn't roused by Steve's growl. It's a good thing they're surrounded by miles of unpopulated country, really. He's torn between jerking his hips forward, trying to get away from Steve's mouth because it's doing nothing but stoking the fire under his skin -- Tony could get off from this, yes, but it's not going to sate him like being knotted would -- and pushing back against Steve to let him bring him to climax anyway. In the end, he forces himself to still, stay exactly where he is, because Steve hasn't given him permission to move yet, and he's at the point where Steve's praise is affecting him in more ways than one, and damn it he wants to be good for Steve.

 

"Yours," he agrees, coming back to himself enough to speak around the trapped whines in his throat. "'m yours, Steve. I swear." And there's some smug satisfaction in knowing that Steve's his, too, even if it's an unspoken thing between them. The bond mark on his neck throbs and Tony presses his head against the pillow to stifle any wounded noises. The last time they slept together, they hadn't had time to renew the marks. And Tony hates to admit that it's affected him more than he cares for, amped the whole 'abandoned omega' thing up to a twelve.

Tony’s words only serve to stoke the fire that’s already burning in the pit of Steve’s stomach, and as much as he wants to make this last as long as he can, as much as he wants to draw it out, and make Tony squirm and suffer, reduce him to a crying, begging mess, he just… can’t. he pulls back with a soft growl, and licks his lips in a way that is absolutely vulgar.

 

“I… I can’t wait anymore, Tony, I need you.” He trails a hand up the inside of Tony’s thigh, lingering over his skin, letting his touch burn a brand there. He should be slow, he should be caring and kind and soft, but something tells him that Tony is just as ready for this, as he is.he sinks two fingers into his omega, and hisses out a harsh breath through his teeth, at the way his inner walls are already tightening and clenching around his fingers. “shh. I know baby. I gotcha.”

 

There's a noise torn from Tony's chest that's entirely too close to a sob for comfort, and he focuses instead on arching his back, trying to take as much of Steve as he can. Fingers are far better than tongue in terms of making the fog that's settled over his mind dissipate enough to at least think through it, but it doesn't help with anything in the long run. The only thing that's going to ease any of the heat is Steve's knot, and Tony knows that Steve can't hold out for much longer, that it has to be taking every ounce of self control he has to not jump straight in at the pass, but Tony doesn't know how much longer he can wait.

 

"Need your cock, alpha," Tony says, words wrecked and tinged with desperation. Tony's least favourite part of heats has always been how out of control he is, how he's never in his right mind long enough into think anything coherent through. He's too vulnerable. He knows Steve would never let anything happen to him but it's still...it's still a worry. "Please. I don't -- I can't -- I need your knot."

 

Steve makes a strange little sound, that’s something between a growl, and a whine. It’s unattractive, and odd, and it hurts his throat, but he doesn’t know which sound would be better for the situation. He wants to help Tony, wants to get on with it, but..

 

“Tony… c’mon, baby, you know I’m big.” And it should sound like a brag at this point, but it’s nothing more or less than the truth. He drags his fingers over the hardened lump of Tony’s prostate, and the next thrust has a little more force behind it. “ I don’t want to hurt you. you'll get me soon, I promise, you gotta calm down for me, ok? I don't... I can't. not with you beggin' like that."

There's no denying that Steve has a point. Even if he was capable of arguing, Tony couldn't argue with that. If they try to do this too quickly, Tony's just going to end up sore and bruised for all the wrong reasons and, really, he's been switching between a constant ache and a constant emptiness for the past few months enough to know that he doesn't want to put himself through any more pain than he has to. For a single second, he hates biology, the fact that he has to go through this again only months after almost dying on the operating table. He hates it. But he doesn't hate Steve. And it's important to make that distinction there.

 

"'m sorry," he mumbles, shifting slightly so that there's less tension held between his shoulder blades. He reminds himself to breathe, tries to focus on Steve's scent to calm himself down. He needs to relax. "I'll behave."

Steve lets a pleased rumble slide through his chest, openly relaxing, with the way the tension bleeds out of Tony’s posture. The mere fact that he’s willing to to try for him, is enough to make something in steve’s chest feel warm and fuzzy and perfect. Tony’s willing to listen to him.

It still takes entirely longer than either of them would like, to work Tony open comfortably around two fingers, and then again to three. By the time that Tony’s ready, Steve’s a mess, growling an almost constant, unbroken sound, nipping a little harder at his scent glands, than he typically would. Tony’s scent in the room is thick enough, that if there were any neighbors in the vicinity, Steve would be overly worried about throwing them off season.

 

Steve’s panting with effort, by the time that he pulls his fingers away. And his hands tremble with the pure need to grasp. “fuck. You… you ready for me?”

 

Tony rocks back before he can stop himself, trying to chase Steve's fingers because he's empty and it feels so horribly, horribly wrong. He can feel slick dripping down the backs of his thighs, and if he had any semblance of self-awareness left, he knows he'd feel a telltale shame seeping in. It takes him several long moments to realise that Steve's even spoken, and he only realises because the silence in the room and the complete lack of movement are overwhelming.

 

"'m ready," he says, breathless. "So, so ready. Please, alpha, please. I've missed you so much. Need your knot." As if to emphasize his point, Tony shifts how he's positioned so he's presenting properly: head pressed against the pillow, supporting himself on his elbows, and his ass in the air for Steve, ensuring there's a slope to his spine. After a second, he manages another broken, "Please."

 

There’s a lot that steve can resist. Torture, suffering, shitty impulse sales based in abusive marketing. He’s strong of will, able to stand his ground more of the time than not, but one thing he could absolutely never figure out how to refuse, is Tony. the way he begs, so sweet and perfect, Steve crumples completely.

 

He grips Tony’s ass tightly, taking a moment to fully appreciate how absolutely perfect he looks like this. His muscles are corded, tensing and rippling in the anticipation of what’s to come. Tony’s entire body is impatient for his alpha, for Steve, and that one singular fact settles deeply into his chest and makes him growl out his satisfaction.

 

“you’re beautiful.” He mutters softly, positioning himself in the upside down V of Tony’s legs, and dragging heavy hands over his shoulders, down his spine, to settle on his hips finally, holding him still. He sinks into Tony slowly, in one long thrust that seems to last the span of a lifetime. It feels… like every thing he remembered, and everything he didn’t realize he’d forgot all at once. He groans lowly, and reaches under Tony, to lay a hand over his stomach gently. His fingers find the thick keloid surgery scar, and he whines softly. “ I love you. So much.”

 

Tony shifts all of his weight to one arm, to reach back and lay his hand over Steve's, if only for a second before he has to return to his original position or risk toppling over. He can hold his weight on one arm, there's no doubt about that, but as disoriented as he is with heat, it's probably not the smartest idea in the world.

 

Steve's words work their way into his chest and nestle somewhere by his heart, and Tony makes a quiet little half-keen sound. It's pitiful, and it's one of those noises he'd be embarrassed if anyone else heard, but Steve isn't anyone else. Steve's Steve and, despite everything, Tony knows he can trust him.

 

"I love you too," he says, voice barely above a whisper. He doesnt need to wonder if Steve's heard it though, enhanced hearing and all that. "I wasn't --" He cuts himself off, changes his mind, and settles on repeating his quiet, "I love you." Because it's enough. It says everything.

 

Steve hums softly, the only sign that he’s willing to give, that he heard Tony. he’s quickly descending even further into rut, and he’s not afraid or ashamed to admit that he’s losing his higher brain function, and really, words aren’t the important thing now anyway.

He pulls back slowly, letting himself draw back until only the head of his cock is left inside Tony, and he plunges forward, at a natural pace. There’s a groan in the back of his throat, and it only gets louder as he pulls his hips back again, pushing forward faster, quickly setting a fast and brutal pace.

 

It’s good. It’s so fucking good, and Steve finds himself biting into his lower lip, trying to keep from either growling obnoxiously, or popping his knot after a handful of thrusts. It’s ultimately useless, and he whines frustratedly, dragging the fingers of one hand through Tony’s hair. “baby… fuck… I… ‘m not gonna last long. ‘m sorry.”

 

Absently, Tony follows the movement of Steve's fingers through his hair, tipping his head back and to the side to give Steve easy access to his bonding glands, should he choose to mark Tony this time. He feels almost as though he's trapped underneath the surface of a body of water, but it's not necessarily an unpleasant feeling. It just takes a lot longer for Steve's words to reach him than it usually would.

 

"Don't apologize," he says, and he means it. He didn't expect Steve to last long, not with him being as far into rut as he is. And it's not as though they don't have the next few days to themselves, anyway. Even longer than that if Steve wants to stick around while Tony hides away from any Accords responsibilities for a while. "I need your knot." There's a moment of hesitation then, Tony coming back to himself just long enough to feel anxious about what he knows he's about to say. "Want you to breed me, alpha."

 

Tony’s words have a possessive, aggressive growl tearing through his chest, and his hips stutter and still for just a moment, before he pulls out completely. He settles one hand over Tony’s shoulder, and flips him easily, so that he’s laying on his back. So they’re face to face. Steve’s quick to crowd up against him, get back into his space, and he pauses only to bend down and press hot, opened mouthed kisses to Tony’s jaw, and scent glands.

 

“Yeah?” he asks softly, as he sinks back into Tony, gasping out relief as he does. His cock is starting to tingle at the base, and he knows he doesn’t have long left. Hopefully, he won’t need long, to get Tony to come first. He jerks forward in a particularly rough thrust, one that scoots them both further up the bed. He should probably feel bad, but right now, it’s just fuel to the fire. He leans down and nibbles over Tony’s earlobe, teasing relentlessly.

“you’re gonna look so perfect Tony, all round with our pup.” He whines softly, on a particularly good thrust, and his eyes flutter shut of their own accord. “God, ‘m gonna keep you in bed, you wont lift a finger for anything.” It’s an odd avenue for sex talk, but he realizes belatedly, that it kind of seems like perfection to him.

 

Tony scrunches his nose up at that, because he's too caught up to put the thought into raising an eyebrow. "Gonna have to tie me down to stop me working, babe," he says, a smirk curving the corner of his lips. On the incredibly slim off-chance that he does wind up pregnant again, Tony knows he's going to need to give into the 'keep you in bed' part of what Steve's saying, because he has a funny feeling that a doctor would recommend excessive bedrest and minimal movement for the sake of the pup, and ensuring that Tony can carry as close to term as he can manage. Working, on the other hand...He could maybe give up Iron Man for nine months. Maybe. But he's still head of R&D at SI, which means a lot of paperwork.

 

He pulls Steve down for another kiss, wrapping his legs around Steve's waist to bring him impossibly closer. The next thrust is rougher than the last, hitting up against Tony's prostate, and Tony comes, untouched, with a broken moan half muffled against Steve's lips. Steve moans softly, into the kiss that’s more teeth and tongue than it is, anything else. Watching Tony come apart around him, the beautiful way his body tenses and releases rhythmically, as he shakes through it, is almost enough to drive him to the brink of insanity. His thrusts, which were already sporadic and frantic, lose just a touch more finesse, and he clutches Tony as close to him as he can. His knot is catching now, making every thrust a disjointed, uncoordinated thing, and he’s maybe a few thrusts away from not being able to pull out again.

The thing that ends up tipping him over the edge, seems so unlikely. Tony presses a gentle featherlight kiss to his temple, and when Steve looks up to see the expression on his face, his eyes are closed, one hand rested over his lower stomach. The alpha moans brokenly, and grinds his hips up against Tony’s ass, as his knot pops fully, with enough force to be staggering.

 

It’s instinct to lean forward, drag his tongue over Tony’s scent glands, and it’s all too easy to bite down on the old scar, renewing it fully. Emotion washes over the pair, and it’s so intense, for a few hysterical seconds, Steve isn’t sure if he’s going to survive it. He whimpers slightly, and when he pulls away, he licks over the wound, hoping to close it. “f-fuck.” He says softly, voice weak and wrung out. “you ok?”

 

Tony lets his legs fall down from around Steve's waist, back down onto the bed so that he's supporting himself more than Steve is supporting him. Steve's asking him something and it's... Entirely too soon to even attempt talking. He focuses on his breathing for a few moments -- even without the reactor, even with all the exercises his doctors have given him, his lungs still aren't as good as they were before Afghanistan. When he thinks he has enough of a hold on himself to form something of a coherent sentence, he reaches up to wrap his arms around Steve, bring him back, closer, because he pulled back and Tony doesn't like it. "Fantastic," he murmurs, blinking his eyes open slowly. "'m fantastic. I love you."

 Steve growls softly, tossing over Tony’s scent glands, and the newly refreshed bond mark. They’ll be tied for the next half hour, easy, and the room is over saturated with the smell of Tony. he tumbles contentedly, low in his chest, and pulls Tony in for a deep kiss. “you’re perfect. I love you, too.”

 

 

**

They spend something like two weeks after their shared cycles in a perfect, blissful kind of trance. They relearn each other, what makes them who they are, and what makes their relationship work. There are some days where they never manage to make it out of bed, too wrapped up in each other, in the nuance of skin on skin, and the intimacy they’ve been missing for months, but it’s not a guaranteed. There are other days, where they do nothing but talk, about everything. Thoughts, and fears, whet makes life worth living. This is what they should have been doing in the first place.

 

By the second day of the third week, Tony’s spending most of the morning in the bathroom, being sick, or trying not to. They go out in the evening, to an impossibly small drug store that doesn’t look like it could hold much more than the contents of a couple of shelves worth of merchandise. They buy a box of purple tests, and they both cry when every single one of them turns out positive.

 

Eventually, they have to go back, to New York and to Wakanda, and that last day is terrible, because they both shower with medical grade scent neutralizing soap, and they have to spend the last few hours they get, not touching. Steve mopes, and Tony tears up when he doesn’t think Steve can see.

 

“A week.” Tony promises, staring at his alpha across the breakfast bar, desperate to reach out and touch him. “give me a week, and I’ll tell the team I’m moving back to the tower. I’ll strip all the old security codes, make it a fortress.”

 

Steve hates the idea, but even has to admit that it has merit. This gives him time to go back to Wakanda, see if there’s anything T’challa can do about immunity from his side. In the weeks since he’s been gone, Bucky’s been texting him, keeping him updated on the political front. Wakanda’s doing a lot for the rogue avengers, and it’s looking more and more like the Accords might not actually hold as much water, as everyone thought in the first place. He sighs heavily, and pushes a hand through his hair.

 

“A week.” He agrees. He fiddles with a bit of fuzz on the top of the island, and speaks to it, instead of Tony. “I… I should probably wait a little longer. Take a few missions. It’ll look suspicious if I don’t and… America’s dangerous enough already. Better not to tempt fate. Tony looks like he might cry (which is a sentiment Steve echoes himself, honestly.) but he nods. They’ve decided, for the time being it’s best not to tell anyone that Tony’s expecting. Not until they have amnesty figured out, and it’s legal for Steve to be with him. It’s just a few weeks. It feels like lying, but it really is the best option. They finish off their meager breakfast (not surprisingly, no one’s hungry) and share the briefest of kisses, before they split ways. A few weeks. It’s not… it’s not the end of the world. Even if it feels like it.


	4. Little Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If I could turn the page, in time I'd rearrange just a day or two. close my, close my eyes, but I couldn't find a way, so I'll settle for one day, to believe in you. Tell me, tell me, tell me lies."-Little lies.

Bucky stares blankly at Steve when he finally comes back to Wakanda, relatively well groomed, and smelling of… absolutely nothing, out of the ordinary. There’s scent on him sure, his natural spiced scent, something more mellow and smooth, that has to be Suri, and even the vaguely floral scent that Bucky’s come to associate with T’challa himself, but there’s absolutely nothing different. Which is more suspicious than anything, if you ask Bucky, not that anyone did. Steve tells him he’s decided to go through with (the monumentally stupid idea of) going back to America, and Bucky just raises an eyebrow.

 

“You’re fulla bullshit, Stevie. Send Tony my best.” Steve rolls his eyes, but he needs to leave quickly, to prevent the blush on his cheeks from blowing his cover.

 

**

Amnesty is… proving to be a little more difficult than they all thought it would be. Tony and T’challa are both still trying, but they’re getting nowhere fast, and at the close of Tony’s second month, they still don’t have anything definitive. Steve tries not to worry, trying to protect Tony from his own feelings, but he loses sleep over it.

Eventually, T’challa gets frustrated enough with it, that he offers Tony political asylum in Wakanda, based on his involvement with the Accords, and the UN’s conduct since. It’s nice to have the back up, but they both pray to God that they don’t have to use it. They… they still haven’t owned up to Tony being pregnant, despite his bump getting bigger by the day. Steve throws himself fully into working on their legal options, and Tony allows himself to be distracted by watching their pup grow and develop with every day. It’s not for much longer. It’ll be over soon.

 

Things go well for months. Summer gives way to fall, fall to winter, and Steve and Tony manage to hide away in their makeshift little nest, the home they’ve made for themselves. It’s odd being back in the tower, at first, where they have so many memories lurking around, but slowly, it becomes something new. it becomes theirs. Tony’s getting more and more maternal, nesting on almost every solid surface, and checking, rechecking, triple checking the nursery. Steve smirks softly, while he watches him bustle around, on a completely unremarkable day.

 

“Baby” he teases softly, over the rim of his hot chocolate. It still won’t replace a nice cup of coffee, but he’s not going to flaunt his ability to have caffeine in front of his seven month pregnant omega. “it’s one pup, how much stuff do we seriously need?” Tony fixes him with an unimpressed look, and Steve raises his placatingly.

 

Tony adjusts the blanket that he’d just laid down in the crib, (which absolutely, isn’t Captain America Themed.) and sighs. “It’s not like I can just send you down to the store to pick up diapers in the middle of the night, Steve.”  The alpha winces slightly, and Tony whines quietly, taking a few steps closer, and brushing his fingers through Steve’s overgrown hair.

 

“’m sorry, Steve. I didn’t mean…” Steve shakes his head, and waves a hand at him vaguely.

“it’s ok, I… You’re not wrong.” He casts a bitter stare down at the floor, and tony sighs softly, taking the mug of cocoa from Steve, setting it down on the changing table.

 

“anything from T’challa yet?” he asks quietly, hopefully. Steve sighs.

 

“nothing new. He’s working on it. Apparently the UN is pretty close to a deal, they’re offering amnesty to Barton, Lang, and Nat, but they’re… not budging on me and Bucky.” He knows the reason they’re not relenting. He knows that they’re wanting at least one of them to take the fall for the whole ‘Civil War’, but he and Bucky have talked it to death. They’re not selling each other out, not after all of this. Steve suspects that the answer might be different, if Bucky… if /anyone knew that Tony was pregnant, but that’s… not something he wants to think about right now. “Hey. It’s ok. There’s still time, alright?”  Tony makes an unconvinced face, but he lets it go for now, picking the hot chocolate back up , and taking a small sip of it.

“ok. It’s… I guess there’s a solid month left, before you have to deal with me freaking out about it, completely.” Steve looks concerned, but Tony just smiles softly, pressing up on his toes to kiss Steve on the cheek, the only clue he gives, that he’s kidding, before walking out of the room, leaving Steve to turn off the lights, and shut the door.

 

Tony’s body hasn’t ever done particularly well, at taking a fucking hint. All the way back to grade school, when he would get nosebleeds, at the most random of times, and for seemingly no reason. Imagine his surprise, to learn that chronic nosebleeds are something to look forward to in pregnancy, too.

The first few drips aren’t so bad, but it gets steadily worse, to the point that he needs to find something to staunch it with, or risk staining his clothes, and making himself look like a crime scene. It’s such a minor reach, just over the sink are the paper towels he needs, it isn’t any more than he reaches for every day. But it hurts. It hurts, in his lower stomach, right at the ages old surgery scar. It hurts, not like standard, run of the mill, ‘all of my muscles are readjusting’ pain, it hurts like he’s being ripped apart.

 

He hears the mug shatter on the tile floor, before he realizes that it’s slipped out of his hand. “STEVE!”

 

Steve’s standing in the nursery, looking over the hundreds of blankest and stuffed animals, and toys they’ve bought their pup, when he hears the bloodcurdling sound. He’s out of the room so fast, that he nearly takes the door off of the hinges.

 

Tony’s backed himself into a corner, because that’s the safest place to be, when he panics. He remembers being a child, Howard berating him when he was drunk, when he threw things. Corners were good places to be. Harder to fight off hits you can’t see coming.

 

His stomach cramps violently, and he whines softly, burrowing as much into himself as he can manage to. Something’s gone awfully, horrifically wrong, and he needs help. Now. He can feel his mind starting to kick into fight or flight, can feel the panic rising and cresting over him, and by the time Steve’s collapsed on the kitchen floor next to him, he’s so far gone, all he can do is shake and tremble through another violent cramp.

 

Tony looks like shit, and it’s clear that he’s dissociating , but that’s all that Steve has to go on, and it’s not _enough_. He whines softly, and brushes gentle fingers through Tony’s hair, trying to ground him with touch as much as he might be able to. There’s blood on the omega’s face, that looks like it’s coming from his nose, but the winter weather’s been cold enough that this happens once or twice a week. There’s something else going on here. He settles behind Tony, wrapping his arms around him, and pulling him to lean against his chest, in hopes that it can help to soothe him.

 

“Hey, baby. Can you tell me what’s going on?” Tony shakes his head, and as frustrated as that makes Steve, he’s sure to keep his face neutral. The last thing he needs, is to further set off Tony’s anxiety, by emoting too strongly, and making it seem like he’s mad at him, too. Steve’s just opening his mouth to speak again, when there’s a soft whir to indicate a message from FRIDAY.

 

“Boss, Cap, Colonel Rhodes is in the elevator, headed to the penthouse now.” Steve’s eyes go wide, and his stomach sinks to the floor. No one should have access to the tower at all, let alone the elevator to their private living space. Tony must have forgotten to pull Rhodey’s security clearance, or deactivate one of the override codes. Steve curses quietly, and moves to wipe away some of the blood on Tony’s nose.

 

Steve’s effort ends up being for naught, because the elevator chimes pleasantly, and Rhodey strolls out, looking confused and pissed. He hasn’t rounded the kitchen corner yet, so Steve isn’t visible yet, but it’s only a matter of seconds.

“Tones? Tones, you here? You were supposed to head out to the compound and—” his sentence stops off short, and Steve knows he’s been spotted. His mind scrambles for some kind of explanation, anything that explains why he’s sitting in the floor, holding Tony, while the omega cowers. Rage flicks over Rhodeys face, and Steve raises his hands out to the side, placatingly. Which is maybe the worst move that he could have made, given that there’s still blood on his hands. He winces visibly.

“I know what this looks like, but I swear—”

“Get the fuck away from him.” The beta bites out, in no uncertain terms. Steve hates the pure disgust that he sees in Rhodey’s eyes. He hates the way his jaw and neck clench, already preparing himself to fight the alpha that caused this, whether it’s actually the truth, or not. Steve whines lowly, and shifts his weight, so he’s more in front of Tony. his breathing is still ragged and shallow, but it’s starting to even out. Steve had been so fucking close to having him out of the woods.

 

“Rhodes. This isn’t what is looks—”  The beta growls lowly, and a muscle in his jaw jumps and twitches.

 

“FRIDAY, contact secretary Ross.” He speaks to the AI without ever looking away from Steve. “You have two fucking seconds to get the hell away from him, Rogers.” Steve growls, instinctively, before he can stop himself, and he hates that he’s worried enough , that he didn’t have the presence of mind to cut the sound off. Appearing aggressive isn’t exactly fucking helping his case.

 

Moving away from Tony isn’t ideal, given that Steve’s grip around him is part of what’s grounding him, as ineffective as it currently is. Rhodey looks like he’s intent on murder though, so Steve moves, readjusting Tony as gently as he can, and taking a healthy step away from him, just in case. Tony whines, and Steve hates himself for it, but his focus now, has to be getting them all through this.

 

“FRIDAY. FRI, don’t!” he says, feeling this situation start to slip out of his hands. Exactly like he was expecting, the AI chimes indifferently. At least she has the decency to sound regretful when she gives them the news Steve had been dreading.

“I… I’m sorry, Cap. He’s… got a higher clearance than you, with the override code.” Steve whines softly, starting to realize that this might not go the way he needs it to.

 

“Rhodey! It’s not what it _looks_ like! It’s a panic attack, c’mon, you know he gets them!” Tony whines softly, trying to curl further in on himself, and Steve wants to die, for causing him more pain. He needs to keep his voice low, damnit, or Tony’s going to think he’s in danger.

 

“I know you left him for dead in an abandoned bunker in Siberia, Steve!” Rhodey bellows, completely demolishing Steve’s attempts to keep the environment as calm as possible. “I know you’re a sorry sack of shit, and I know that you have about three minutes and counting, before JSOC is dragging your ass to the raft where you should have been for the last year.”

Okay. That… that gets a growl, and Steve isn’t exactly sorry about it. He’s openly being threatened. Or at least… he hopes it’s a threat. They’re so close to the finish line, they’ve made it through seven months of morning sickness, and cravings, and two pregnancy heats. They’ve come so far, for it to crumble down now of all times. He opens his mouth to ask if the treat is legit, but FRIDAY chimes pleasantly, around them.

 

“Colonel, a squad is incoming, 2 minutes and counting.” Steve could swear the world actually stops spinning, and the moment drags on for an inordinate amount longer than it should. It’s done then. Tony was right, they should have stayed in Italy, or taken their chances with telling T’challa. Steve coming back into the country was a remarkable, incredible mistake. He growls lowly, and fixes Rhodey with a death glare. It feels like he should say something, but there aren’t words foul enough in the English language for what he feels right now. He whines softly, and cups Tony’s face gently, tilting his chin to look up at him, not unlike so many months ago, hidden safely in the summer house.

 

“Look at me, baby. Hey, Tony, Star, baby c’mon, look at me. “ Tony’s eyes flick over to him, and there’s the slightest twitch in his pupil, that means maybe he can hear. Maybe he’s present enough to hear what Steve has to tell him. “I love you. Ok? I love you. And I promise, I’m not gone, alright? I… I gotta go for now, but I’ll be back, ok? Bet your life on it.” He presses a quick kiss to Tony’s cheek, and he ignores the soft whine that the omega lets out in confusion. He wants to stay, god, he does, but he’s no use to Tony, if he’s in custody. “I love you. Both of you.”

 

The ‘both of you’ of Steve’s sentence takes too long to filter through Rhodey’s brain, and when he finally gets it, the final piece of the puzzle slots into place for him. He’d been so concerned about the obvious distress on Tony’s face, and the aggression on Steve’s, he’d never bothered to look down. Where Tony is obviously heavily pregnant. The light T shirt he’s wearing makes it incredibly obvious, but the last several times Rhodey had seen him, he’d been in layers, wearing clothes big enough that he just looked like he’d gained some ambiguous weight. he racks his brain, trying to think of the last time he’d seen Tony. they talked almost every day, sure, but on video chats, and through text, and it’s easy to hide a bump then, isn’t it? He feels a wave of nausea wash over him. What kind of friend he must be, to not have even noticed.

 

Steve feels immense guilt for the crises that Rhodey’s going through right now, because if they’d just told him in the first place… no. no, that can’t be how he thinks, because that was a decision they made together, over several long conversations, throughout the entire pregnancy.

 

There’s something that’s akin to understanding washing over Rhodey’s face, and he pales, as he stares across the room at Steve. “Run. Steve, Run!” He doesn’t have to be told twice.

 

 Doubtless, JSOC can shut the power down, he thinks, and no sooner had the thought crossed his mind, than did the lights in the hallway go dark. That’s inconvenient, but that doesn’t do shit about the shaft, and all he needs, is to be able to get low enough that he can survive a drop to the ground.

 

It’s easy enough to break out the top of the elevator, to get into the shaft proper, and jump for the steel supports on the far side. From there, it’s just a mater of jumping from support, to support, avoiding the columns on the sides, that contain the main electrical components. If he wasn’t running for his life, it would be almost amusing, that the power being cut is more helpful to him, than it is prohibitive

 

He scales down the building in record time, dropping a full fourteen floors, before he’s comfortable forcing the door open, and looking for the nearest window to smash. He’s still afraid of heights, and looking down at the ground definitely makes his head spin, but he has to do this. He doesn’t have a choice.

 

Back upstairs, Tony’s starting to come back around from the panic that had all but swallowed him, and realizing that Steve’s nowhere to be found, ironically, is making him panic that much more. he shifts slightly, trying to get into a more comfortable position, and a cramp wracks through his stomach. He doesn’t give his body permission to scream, but it does it anyway.

 

Rhodeys crosses the space that’s between him and his best friend in two large steps, and kneels next to him. It’s only thanks to a lifelong career in the Air Force, and active combat, that he manages to keep a hold on his emotions.

“Tony? Tones! C’mon, buddy, I need you to tell me what’s going on.” Tony gasps hard, and screws his eyes shut, against another wave of pain. His hands clutch at his stomach, as his brain flounders for words that even sort of make sense.

“Rhodey.” He chokes out, trying his hardest not to bite through his own lip. “My water just broke.”


	5. Take The Long Way Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When lonely days turn to lonely nights, you take a trip to the city lights. and take the long way home, take the long way home. You never see what you want to see, forever playing to the gallery, you take the long way home, take the long way home." -Take the long way home.

Okoye is the one that ‘rescues’ Steve, and frankly he’s never been more terrified of silence. She watches him, pacing around the enclosed area of the jet, but offers absolutely nothing in terms of her thoughts, or any news on… any front, and it’s absolutely nervewracking, to have nothing to go on. He must be sighing, because at one point, she looks at him, and with the most minute inclination of her head, stares directly into his soul. He’s just about to the point of losing his goddamned mind, when she says the only helpful thing he’s heard all day. “we’re approaching Wakandan airspace. T’challa is waiting for you.” Steve’s worked up enough at this point, that that simple news is almost enough to break him.

**

 

Rhodey paces impatiently up and down the halls of the hospital, relying on his very last nerve, to stay strong. he’s a few moments off of an anxiety attack of his own, at any given point, but he’s been able, so far, to force it all aside. He needs to hold it together for just a touch longer.

 

JSOC had stormed the tower not moments after Steve took off, and he answered what felt like a thousand and one questions. He told them… a variation on the truth, which he tells himself makes it a little less awful. As far as they know, Steve had been in the tower, though he doesn’t know why. Really, Rhodey came in on the tail end of the conversation. He heard something about Steve hiding out in Canada, and he’s just /certain/ that as soon as Tony’s conscious, and able to talk, he’ll be willing to corroborate. It’s not much of a head start. But it’s what he can do. Literally, the least he can do, since he’s the one that called Ross in the first place.

 

He sighs heavily, and sinks down into a hard backed waiting room chair. This is…  less than ideal.

**

Tony can’t exactly recall anything that happened, before he fell asleep. He remembers being pissed off at the weather. Blood… pain too, but he doesn’t think the blood had anything to do with the pain. It’s all a confused, bizarre jumble in his head, and he doesn’t know how to make heads or tails of it. It’s almost like a dream, one that seems so vivid, when you’re asleep, but when you wake up, you can’t remember a thing.

 

There’s a bad smell, he thinks. Something antisepticey, and wrong. He wonders if Steve might have cut himself or something. Maybe it’s whatever he used to clean up the blood. Wherever it came from. There’s an itch on his arm, and he reaches up to scratch at it, without looking. His heart stops cold, when he realizes that what his fingertips are touching, is an IV line.

 

He blinks his eyes open in a blind panic, trying to get out of the bed that he’s in, before he has even the vaguest idea of what’s going on. He’s dizzy, and disoriented, symptoms that are consistent with anesthesia, and his stomach lurches, when he realizes that his bump is gone, and that’s nothing, if not a nightmare come true.

 

He staggers out into the hallway, disoriented, and confused, and mad as hell. He only makes a few steps, before a well meaning nurse is rushing up to him, trying to usher him back into the room. He’s, understandably, having none of it. “Where’s my kid.”

 

The well meaning nurse, a beta, if his nose is right, looks at him, confused. “Mister Stark they… didn’t they tell you?” he has no earthly idea what she’s talking about, but he’s heard enough bad news in his life, to know that those words don’t bode any sort of well. He’s just teetering on the edge of sobbing, when a familiar voice drifts over to him from behind.

 

“Tony. You really shouldn’ be up. Do you ever follow the rules?” he blinks several times, and whips back around suddenly, making the most bewildered face he’s personally capable of, when his eyes lock on…

 

“B… Bucky?” he shakes his head, ignoring the way it spins in protest at the action. “I’ve lost my kid, and my mind. That’s… that’s great.”

 

Bucky smirks softly, and shakes his head. “not quite.” He moves to walk a little further down the hall, pushing past the confused nurse who looks like it’s in her job description to argue, but really doesn’t want to. Bucky waves her off, and she goes willingly enough. When Tony stands in the exact same spot he was occupying a moment ago, Bucky raises an eyebrow at him. “are you… gonna c’mere, or…?”

 

Tony shakes his head, not at all a fan of the headache that’s steadily forming behind his eyes. “Why… why not.”

**

Bucky points through a glass pane, toward a corner of a room that’s almost entirely deserted. There’s a large plexiglass… “I-is that a crib?” Bucky scoffs, and rolls his eyes.

 

“nothin’ escapes you, does it, genius.” Tony fixes him with a glare, and he smirks in response. “Yeah. It’s a crib. And over there…” he steps to the side, and points to the other half of the room, to a rocking chair, with a six foot two super soldier, and two tiny bundles. Tony gasps, and Bucky huffs out a quiet laugh. “yeah. You know them.” Tony moves to open the door and freezes at the last second, looking back to Bucky with obvious confusion writ over his face.

 

“wait how—” Bucky holds up a hand, and shakes his head the slightest bit.

 

“Don’ worry about it right now. There’s a lotta red tape, and bureaucracy, but basically, Steve told T’challa you were pregnant, and he sent us both right back. We’re political asylees with the nation of Wakanda, so there’s not a lot they can do to us right now.  Rhodey realized you were in labor, brought you here. When me ‘n Stevie showed up, he went to go talk to Ross, see if there’s something he can do for the rest of the rogues.” Tony nods, slowly, while he processes it all. He still has more questions (doesn’t think anyone couldn’t, after all of that.) but… they can wait for now.

 

He reaches out for the doorknob, and starts to turn it, but something pauses him, and he turns back to Bucky. “hey, Bucky… about my parents—” a tortured look falls over the alphas face, and for just a moment, there’s something impossibly heavy in the air between them. It’s gone, almost as soon as it happened though, and Bucky shakes his head, sticking his fingers in his ears, as he walks away, like the clown he is. “later, Stark.”

 

Tony huffs out a quiet laugh, and shakes his head. It’s not a promise, not a guarantee, but maybe… just maybe there’s a chance that they can reach an understanding.

**

Steve’s eyes are closed, and he’s in all honesty probably closer to sleep than he is, wake. The two bundles that he’s holding on his chest are tiny, wiggly little people, and Tony’s heart swells in his chest, to the point that he wonders if he’s a risk for another heart attack. He reaches out with a nervous finger, and lightly touches one of the pups’ face, dragging his fingertip through  a mop of dark brown curls, not unlike his own. He’s so captivated by the tiny human in front of him, that the deep growl that splits the air around him, scares him enough to make him jump.

 

Steve blinks open fiercely golden eyes, his top lip curling in a snarl, until he realizes that he’s looking at Tony. “baby. Hey, you shouldn’t be standing.” He furrows his eyebrows together in concern, and shuffles them and their pups until he’s standing, and Tony’s in the chair he was just occupying. Steve smiles softly, and hands over the other bundle, this one with a hat that has a tiny purple bow affixed to it. Steve looks every bit, the proud father he is. “you’ve already met out son. Here’s our daughter.”

 

Tony takes her with the most tender grasp he can, almost afraid to hurt her. She squirms gently, and blinks open startlingly ice blue eyes, and tony could swear he feels his heart burst with affection. “Hi, baby.” He laughs softly. “hi.” He spends a truly inordinate amount of time looking down at their twins, and when he looks up at Steve, he realizes they’re both crying. He reaches out gently, to touch Steve’s face, and for the first time, in months, he’s not worried about the fallout from the Civil War. He’s not worried about Ross, or  the Accords, or any other thank that so short a time ago, seemed so important. He smiles softly, at Steve, and huffs out a quiet laugh.

“welcome home, Steve.” Steve leans down, and presses a lingering kiss to Tony’s cheek.

“Never left. Home is whenever I’m with you.”

 

 

“Home wasn't a set house, or a single town on a map. It was wherever the people who loved you were, whenever you were together. Not a place, but a moment, and then another, building on each other like bricks to create a solid shelter that you take with you for your entire life, wherever you may go.”

—  Sarah Dessen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright guys, hopefully you liked it! i know the ending is kind of abrupt, I promise that's a stylistic choice. I wanted to leave it up to y'all, to decide what happens next.
> 
> fed an hungry writer, with kudos and comments! a comment a day keeps the anxiety at bay!

**Author's Note:**

> "I lay strewn across the floor, can't solve this puzzle  
> Everyday, another small piece can't be found  
> I lay strewn across the floor, pieced up in sorrow  
> The pieces are lost, these pieces don't fit  
> Pieced together incomplete and empty" - But home is nowhere
> 
>  
> 
> Feel free to come poke me on tumblr! sometimes, I do things! @thejovialkynnadyg-ray


End file.
